aiscream



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Ilya was good at noticing things about people, and he was good at understanding them. Shane was not. That was okay. Shane had developed his own way of getting to know Ilya. It involved a lot of inane questions and, more importantly, no longer involved condoms.

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    25 May 2026

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    Ice had always wanted to be an alpha.

    Of course he had. You didn't need to be one to be a military pilot, there were plenty of betas who did just fine; but the top brass were almost all alphas, and Tommy Kazansky hadn't been stupid, even at fourteen. He wasn't going to settle. He'd never learned how. He was going to be an alpha. He was going to present, and he was going to be an alpha, and then everything was going to snap into place.

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    15 May 2026

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    Media: Here is the goodest most normal boy.
    Me: Oh so he’s a lil fucked up, got it. Here he is developing a bruise kink on top of everything else going on.

     

    Something’s different, just in general. Like wearing sunglasses, a filter of sorts over everything, but if Shane was in any way honest with himself, he’d know it was more like going without for the first time.

    He’s painfully aware of his body these days; how it looks, how it moves, how it responds to… stimuli. And it is responding, lately. His bruises, too: always just there, so used to them they’d barely registered anymore, but recently there’s been a sort of constant hum of them at the edge of his awareness. It’s a layer of input he really doesn’t need right now, busy as he is.

    But he’s been woken up. Restless. Needy.

    Late in bed, when all his chores are done, fingers travel up to his collarbone, where the newest acquisition is waiting for him.

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    04 May 2026

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    Ilya's on a hotel roof in the middle of the night. The draft is tomorrow, and he can't sleep.

    That's when Shane Hollander appears, but he's somehow thirty-five years old, and acting very friendly... and he's wearing glasses. This must be a dream — mustn't it?

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    03 May 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    And you know, there's something really liberating about putting your thoughts down and sending them out and not being able to take them back. I think you're probably reading this and thinking that I'm significantly weirder deep down inside than you'd thought, and that's all right because it's the truth. But maybe you don't care and you've already thrown this away and you'll toss any other ones I send out with the junk mail, unopened. And that'd be okay too. It's not the reading that counts; it’s the writing.

    There are two boxes full of letters in Eames's desk drawer. The ones he receives from Arthur, and the ones he wishes he could send in reply.

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    23 Apr 2026